My Life (Chapter 1)

It was a gloomy day, and rain poured from outside. Lysandre sat in his bed, drawing a small comic that illuminated how he felt at the time. Sad, depressed, and just one emotion that he could not say in words. Failure? No. Obliteration of my future? Kind of... He sighs, and lays his notebook across his lap. He tucks his pencil behind his ear. What can I possibily do more wrong? He asks himself. He skipped school, and instead locked himself in his room, with no hope of his future. He decided he would be a comic artists, or a guitar player, for he already knew he could get no better another way. What if I never get married? He remembered asking himself before. He, himself, had never seen a girl... Not in Japan. He saw Americans, Europeans, Chinese, and many more other cultural women, but not in real life either. He put his head in his hands, and thought about how much of a failure he is to his parents. No , he thought, Need to clear my mind, need to clear my mind. He threw his notebook on the floor, and jumped out of bed. He took his guitar, opened his door, and went through the hall. His mother was in the kitchen. She looked at him, narrowed her eyes, but then turned away... Lysandre stood there for a moment, hoping she would say something to him. He then found out she had nothing to say, so he left through the hall and went out the front door. He walked down the streets. Walked, and walked, to the bridge, past the store, past the city dump. He kept on walking, even though his stomach hurt, even though his legs ached, even though he could feel the sores growing on his feet, even though every time he wiped the sweat off his face, he winced, because of the sunburns cutting through his skin. Walked, his guitar edges cut through his fingers, the strings slicing through. He walked, until he reached the city airport, and collapsed on the bench. Tears ran through his eyes, because now all the pain was coming back to him. He fell to sleep, and waked up to a "good welcoming" face of the police officer, his squinty eyes glaring at Lysandre like he was no better than the dog with rabies down the road, or even worst, it's "refreshments" right beside it. "Who are you?!" He barked at Lysandre, shoving his finger in Lysandre's chest. "I am Lysandre, sir. Lysandre Masoka." Lysandre said, staring up to the hateful eyes of the police man. The man suddenly made a weird face, as if he was constipated or he accidentally ate too much donuts this morning. "Lysandre Masoka, eh?" He said. His eyebrow suddenly raised up to about his hairline, adding an extra "ugly as the day is long" to his constipated facial expression. "You that comic book writer?" He added a "uh" sound to writer so it sounded like "writeah". " Yes sir." Said Lysandre. "What you doin' here then, eh?" He said, his mustache twitching uncontrollably, like it was just a mouse, ready to run off of his UG-A-LY face at any moment. "To hopefully find a ticket, and be able to go some where else. Play guitar, make comics, and a better life is all I want." Said Lysandre, speaking from his heart, while staring at the floor, hopefully so that he wouldn't stutter from the complete disgraceful ugly face staring holes through him. The police man sat beside him, and his eyes bulged out like a chihuahuas. "The tickets to the U.S.A are only $50.00. I can give you the money." He said. Lysandre stopped breathing for a second, for the complete fact that the man who just looked like he wanted Lysandre's soul burned in hell, turned to Mr. Niceguy in a matter of seconds. Is this dude Bypolar? Lysandre said in his head. "But, you must promise me one thing," said Mr. Niceguy. Oh god, I should of known nothing comes without a price! Thought Lysandre. He felt like banging his head against the walls for his plain stupidity. "Or actually two," Mr. Niceguy said thoughtfully. Then his face turned back to "I want your soul to burn in hell" look. "Number one: DO NOT SLEEP IN OUR AIRPORT! And NUMBER 2:" He paused, his face turning back to "I'm constipated" look, and finally said, "And please, make yourself famous over there, eh?" Lysandre couldn't help but feel confused. Is this dude playing me like a violin or what? He thought. Mr. Niceguy turned to Slenderman from Creepypasta to Rainbow Dash from My Little Pony, in less than a minute. Talk about a jack of all trades! Lysandre thought. "Yes sir. I will, and I will no more sleep here." Lysandre said. Before Mr. Niceguy could turn to Satan again, Lysandre stood up about to go. "EH! YOU FORGETTIN' 'BOUT DAT MONEY?" Mr. Niceguy barked. Lysandre turned around. "Oh..." He chuckled to himself softly. Mr. Niceguy/ Satan took out his wallet and pulled out two twenties and a ten. "Keep it." Mr. Niceguy said. "Don't lose, use, or abuse it, or you ain't goin' nowhere, got me?" Lysandre nodded, and took the fifty dollars. He went outside and went to the back of a store building, and went to sleep. Now I won't be a failure." He thought to himself.